


Wicked games

by orphan_account



Series: Wicked Games [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: :), Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Withdrawal, Gay Michael Mell, Gen, He gets some, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jeremy Heere is a good friend, Michael Needs a Hug, Michael is a mess, Michael's parents are the worst, Michael-centric, Rich Goranski is a good friend, Sad Michael, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Trans Michael Mell, Transphobia, drug overdose, he gets hugs and cookies, now for the abundance of warnings, sorta a group chat fic, unsafe binding, which is close enough to a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 18:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael wanted to dart forwards and grab them, to snatch his things that were stolen from him and run. There was no way this could work out for him. No way this ended well in his favor. His parents had invaded his privacy, stolen important things, and now were looking at him like he was the bad guy."You can't do this to me." Michael whispered. "You just can't."...Or Michael has horrible parents but good friends and I self project myself onto him a lot.





	Wicked games

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Self projecting onto Michael for over 10000 words while ignoring all the other fic's I currently have on the go? It's much more likely than you think.
> 
> Anyways, I've been working on this for like three days now and it's not perfect but I needed to get it down. This is actually based on something that occurred to me a while ago, although this is much more dramatic and over exaggerated so yeah.  
> Also, a disclaimer, I am not a trans man. I am in fact non binary, so a few of these facts will be wrong and i'm sorry if they are. But I have had some experience with Dysphoria and binding, so it should be mostly correct.
> 
> If some characters seem out of character, that's because the interactions are actually based on real things me and my friends have said before. 
> 
> Disclaimer, Michael's parents in here suck horribly. His dad is physically abusive and uses slurs and his mom is emotionally abusive. Please do not read this if you are sensitive to that or any form of transphobia, homophobia, or unsafe binding and actions that can be considered as self harm. 
> 
> There is some texting in this between the other characters so I'm just going to include who's who so no one gets confused:  
> Jeremy-StopMakingPunsWithMyName  
> Rich-Bich (I mispelled his name once like this and it looked like bi and Rich rolled into one so i used it)  
> Jenna-GossipGirl  
> Chloe-StoneCold  
> Brooke- FuckImLohst  
> Christine-TotallyJuliet  
> Jake-BossMan  
> Michael-Gwapo (handsome in Filipino)

Michael Mell dreamed of the perfect family. 

Of a mom who kissed his forehead every time he came home and made him his favorite snacks when he was down. Of a mother who went shopping with him and teased him about his crushes. A mom who would listen to his problems and offer a shoulder to cry on.

He dreamed of a dad who would ruffle his hair and punch his shoulders lightly. A dad who would force him to go and help out around the house. A dad who would watch bad movies and laugh at them with him. A dad who would promised to take him to car shows and let him buy all the stupid junk he wanted. 

He dreamed of a perfect family that loved and accepted him for who he was. 

But instead he was stuck with a family that hated him, refused to accept him for who he was and gave him more bruises and cuts than he wanted to admit. 

He got a mother who called him “Maddy” and bought him stupid dresses that he refused to wear. That refused to look at him some days and glared at him like she wanted him to disappear. Who refused to use he/him pronouns, who refused to accept the fact that her straight daughter was actually a gay son. He got a mom that pretended he didn't exist, who guilted him whenever she could and turned a blind eye towards his suffering. 

He got a father that grabbed his short hair and threw him to the ground. A father who screamed slurs and swears at him whenever Michael dared to open his mouth. Who mocked him and pinched his extra fat. Who threw punches and slaps whenever he made the smallest little mistake. 

Instead of a loving family Michael got a living hell. 

Some days it was okay, his mom would smile at him when he came upstairs and despite calling him “Maddy” she talked kindly to him. His father would look at him passively and without hate, and Michael went to school feeling light and happy at being given the bare minimum of love from them. 

But most days, like today, went the opposite direction. 

It was Thursday, he had come back from school a little while earlier and went right to his room. Hoping to avoid all contact with his parents. But Michael could already hear his parents screaming at each other. It was almost dinner, but Michael was much too terrified to go upstairs while they were fighting. Doing so always ended with him being thrown against and object by his father and abuse getting shouted at him from his mother. 

He heard his name being thrown around, and guessed that it was probably about whose fault he was again. Was it his mother for not being a good enough role model? Or his dad for not being there enough? Or maybe because Michael is a boy, not a girl, despite what his genitals and parents thought. Soon the argument died down and he heard the door slam, signalling at least one of the two had left. He hoped it was his father, his mom was so much easier to deal with. 

Michael got up and quickly threw on his binder, getting rid of the stupid bumps on his chest he hated looking at. He pulled on his favourite red hoodie and loose-fitting pants and slowly went upstairs, his hunger overriding the fear for a small period of time. 

He quietly walked to the kitchen, glad to see that neither of his parents were in sight. If he could get away with eating some food and disappearing without his remaining parents even noticing this day would improve by a lot. 

He grabbed a simple sandwich and quickly left the room, avoiding his mom who tried to catch his attention as Michael darted by. 

Running down the stairs he practically jumped on his bed, listening to any signs that his mom followed him. 

Luckily, there was no footsteps or sounds of stumbling coming closer.

He sighed, his heart rate going down a couple of notches. He forgot how much the yelling affected him, made his heart pound with fear and his eyes fill with tears. 

He looked over at the washroom, trying to remember if he took all his meds that day. That could explain his slightly more dramatic than usual reaction to the fight. But he remembered swallowing all of his pills earlier, both of them that helped keep his depression in check.

He looked over at the clock, still three hours before it was socially acceptable to go to sleep. He had only one day left of an escape. After school tomorrow it was winter break, meaning he was stuck with his parents for two entire weeks since Jeremy and his dad were going away to celebrate Hanukkah and St. Nicholas day. 

Michael sighed, pushing his depressing thoughts aside and picking up his computer. Tumblr would provide a distraction. It always did. 

________________

Michael knew that Winter break was going to be hell. Jeremy was already gone, down to the mountains to sit in a log cabin for a while. And although their friendship wasn't the best after the whole SQUIP thing, Michael was going to miss the lanky boy. 

School was almost done, the bell counting down the final minutes and Michaels stomach clenched with anxiety. His parents were acting weird this morning, his dad staying home from work and both of them smiling at him when he left. 

Either their entire personality had altered itself overnight, something was poisoning the water, or they were planning something bad.

Because Michael has amazing luck, it happened to be the last option. 

Walking inside, he heard his mom and dad in the living room, talking quietly to each other. The near silence blanketed him, sending him scurrying down the stairs as quickly as he could. 

The second his feet hit the floor in his room he instantly calmed, the familiar room helping lessen the anxiety. He sighed, pulling off his iconic red sweater and struggling out of his binder. He just ordered two new ones earlier that month, a blank and a nude to go with his white. 

Wandering over to the bathroom, he quickly turned on the shower and plugged in his music. He made sure to lower the sound on his speaker, not wanting to annoy his father once again. He already got a bruise on his hip from that fight. The lights were off, making it kind of hard to see but he navigated the small room with ease, walking into the shower and only tripping once.

Michael let the warm water rush over him, cranking up the heat to a degree just under unbearable. He scrubbed at his skin, ignoring his very unmanly parts as he soaped up his skin. If he tried hard enough he could ignore them, pretend they didn’t exist and he already lived inside the right body. 

But after ten minutes the lights were back on and he couldn’t deny the truth. He made a point of quickly pulling on his hoodie and practically ran into his bedroom. 

His dysphoria had been getting worse lately and taking showers were always the worst. It just made him feel like a girl. Like Madeline again. He didn't want to be Madeline, but he had all her parts and he hated that. 

He knew he shouldn't wear his binder for as long as he was. But his sports bras did nothing to lessen the bumps on his chest and at the moment he just wanted to feel almost smoothness. Only for another hour or so. His ribs could suck it up and take it.

He ran to his underwear drawer and opened it up, immediately reaching to where his binders are normally kept. But his hand met nothing but empty wood. 

“What the hell?” Michael muttered looking in the drawer and realizing that his binders weren't there. 

He pointlessly rummaged around the drawer hoping that maybe it got shoved under something. 

But the more he looked the more apparent it became that nothing was there. He threw open some of the other drawers, hoping that they somehow got mixed up. 

But his binders were gone. No sign of them at all. Michael ran a hand threw his hair, the panic welding up inside of him. 

Without thinking, he ran upstairs, checking the laundry to see if his mom for some reason threw them in there. 

“Madeline? Can you come here please?” His mom called form the living room, and Michael cringed at that stupid name. It felt wrong, his body felt wrong, everything was going wrong and he really didn't want to face his mom and dad right now.

Michael walked into the living room, his eyes scanning over the scene.

First he looked over at his dad, who didn't seem mad or drunk so that was a good thing. His mom seemed more worried and disappointed than anything, but the one thing that caught his attention was the pile on the table. Sitting there was his three binders, along with his boxers and what suspiciously looked like his medication bottle. 

Michael wanted to dart forwards and grab them, to snatch his things that were stolen from him and run. There was no way this could work out for him. No way this ended well in his favor. His parents had invaded his privacy, stolen important things, and now were looking at him like he was the bad guy. 

“Sit down Mads.” His father said, the rough grumble causing Michael to walk on auto pilot to the sofa.

“What's going on?” Michael asked harshly, and his heart started pounding and his skin felt too hot. 

“Your dad and I have been talking,” His mom started, glancing over at her husband. “We have made the decision to take more control of your life. We have let you grow soft, you need a firm hand once again.” 

That was bullshit but whatever. 

“And what does my stuff have to do with this?” Michael demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Because ever since you started taking these,” His father reached over and picked up the pill bottle. And yup, it was his antidepressants. “Our beautiful daughter has suddenly become whatever the hell you think you are. And that's not what we wanted when we got you them. We thought we would get out sweet little girl back. But instead we got you, a stupid girl who things she’s some tranny faggot.” 

His father was sneering, hate and displeasure reflected in his eyes. Michaels breath caught at the harsh words thrown at him. It wasn’t the first time, not in a long shot, but it still hurt to hear.

“That's not true. I was never your daughter. I've always been your son, you just don't want to admit it.” Michael shot back, feeling the need to defend himself.

There was no way he was winning this conversation. But he needed those things, needed his meds, his binders and boxers. 

“We don't want a son Mads.” His mom had tears in her eyes. “We want our little girl. The one that wore dresses and long hair and was proud of who she was. Not this make believe you've convinced yourself you are.”

Michael felt like puking. He wasn't a girl. He wasn't their “sweet little daughter” he was Michael. A proud trans man. He didn't want to be anything else. He wasn’t anything else.

“You don't understand-” Michael tried to say, but he was cut off. 

“No! You don't understand Madeline.” His mom stood up, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I have given you everything. A roof above your head, food on the table. I have given you love and compassion. And you have given me nothing in return. Nothing but trouble. I have tried so hard to be the mother you need, but I can’t do this. I can't pretend my daughter is a man. I have offered you so much and yet you refuse to take it.”

His mom kneeled in front of him, her hands cupping his face. The unwanted touch made Michael's skin crawl as he flinched away. 

“Please, just let me have this. Let me have my girl back.” She whispered, tears rushing down her cheeks as she stared into his eyes.

“No.” Michael whispered pulling away and curling into himself. His mom sobbed loudly. “I can't erase myself for you.” 

“You don't have a choice.” His father declared, grabbing his things and bundling them into a ball. Michael tried to intercept him, but his moms suddenly had her arms around him, holding him back as he struggled. 

“This will be locked inside our room. You won't take your medication and no more of this silly “transgender” thing. You are to wear bras and panties like a normal girl. Am I understood?” His father walked away without a response. Taking the things Michael needed the most with him. 

“I hate you!” He screamed, emotions pouring out of him. Shock, betrayal, anger. “I hate you both so much.” 

He was crying now, tears streaming down his face as his world crumbled to the ground. He pushed away from his mom and ran downstairs, slamming the bathroom door as he slid to the ground. 

He was officially royally screwed. 

 

_____________________

 

The next morning he almost forgot about the dilemma he was facing. He got up and trudged sleepily over to the bathroom, rubbing his eyes and throwing water on his face.

He looked up on instinct, his heart falling when he gazed at the empty spot where his meds used to sit. It had now been over 24 hours since he last took the pill, the first time in almost four years since he started the medication.

He quickly brushed his teeth and walked back to his room. He pulled on the tightest sports bra he could find in the back of his closet and threw his baggiest sweater on over top.

If he didn’t think about it maybe he would be fine. 

Looking over at the clock, he saw that he still had around 30 minutes before he had to go eat breakfast. His parents insisted they all each together every morning no matter the day. Even on the weekend he was up at 7:30, getting ready to face his parents. 

Today he wanted to forget about it, to sneak out the back window and go somewhere else where people accepted him. But Jeremy wasn't here, and none of his new “friends” really liked him that much. 

He had slowly been getting used to hanging out with the SQUIP squad, they were all amazing people. But he had to constantly pretend, constantly lie to them. Him and Rich had been getting along really well, turns out Rich is just as big of a geek as he was. Jenna had also become a good friend, the two of them gossiping and joking around together. But it wasn't like Michael would call any of them up, especially not without his binder. 

He wouldn't be able to face anyone with his chest the way it was. Couldn't allow anyone to see him in a body he didn't want. Didn't want to face the judgement that would come with it.

Slowly the clocked ticked its way towards breakfast time and Michael slowly crawled up the stairs, feeling oddly tired and heavy. 

His mom was in the kitchen already, finishing up the last of the pancakes she made. His dad was sitting at the table with the newspaper, and the scene was almost homey. 

“Sit Madeline.” His father growled and just like that the spell was broken. 

Michael slunk to his seat, his hair flopping over his eyes. The tension was thick in the room, the walls pressing in on all sides. 

His mom silently handed him a plate filled to the brim with pancakes and sickly-sweet fruit. It looked disgusting. 

He didn't want to eat, felt like any food that would hit his lips would turn to cement inside his stomach. 

“Eat.” His mom prodded, sniffling indignantly. Michael glanced up at his parents, shrinking under the withering glares he received. 

He shoved the food into his mouth quickly, swallowing it down quickly before he could taste it. It was too sweet for him, his throat felt sore and his stomach upset. He couldn't manage more than a few bites. 

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, feeling tears spring into his eyes. Why was he being so stupid? It was just some food.

“It's okay.” His mom sighed, picking up his plate and shoving it into the fridge. “You can finish it for lunch.” 

As soon as his mom stopped talking Michael was out of the chair and running downstairs, eager to get away from the pounding anxiety in his veins. 

The next few days were similar to hell. 

Each night he had extremely vivid nightmares, visions of his friends getting SQUIPed and grabbing him, forcing him to the ground as they tried to get the pill into his mouth. He heard Jeremy taunting him, laughing and sneering with the rest. 

When he woke up he would feel empty. There was no feelings other than disgust and hate inside of him, simmering and threatening to kill every ounce of joy he felt. His anxiety was up, causing his to freak out at every little thing. He barely had any energy anymore, finding it hard to do anything except walk to the bathroom. And even that was getting harder. 

His hatred for himself grew as well. Every time he looked in the mirror he saw a body that wasn't his, he didn't feel like the person he saw. It was more confusing than anything. Like he had grown a third arm. He just felt so mad at himself all the time. For not being better, for not preventing this all from happening.

On the third day he got a cold. His skin felt hot and he was nauseated every time he got up. He stayed in bed, ignoring his mom who occasionally came down to make sure he wasn't dead yet.

Two days later the fever broke, but he was just so tired. So done with the world that he didn't have the energy to get up.

He didn't want to look in the mirror and see his stupid greasy hair and pale skin. His stupid face and stupid body that didn't match his stupid mind. He just wanted to stop being this way.

_____________________________________

StopMakingPunsWithMyName added Bich, GossipGirl, StoneCold, TotallyJuliet, FuckImLohst and BossMan to a group chat

Bich: Why did you make a new group chat??? Our old one was fine???

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: I needed a chat without Michael

TotallyJuliet: Why? Did you two have a fight? Do we need ice cream? 

GossipGirl: Does this have anything to do with the fact that he has been ignoring all of my messages lately by any chance?

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Ya

GossipGirl: Has anyone talked to him since the break started?

StoneCold: Nah, he’s said nothing to me.

FuckImLohst: Nothing to me either, didn’t even respond to the cute cat meme I sent

BossMan: Nah no word

LiterallyJuliet: Now that I think of it, no

Bich: Nope. What’s going on Jer?

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Not sure, he hasn’t responded to any of my texts. The thing about Michael is that he always responds to texts unless he’s in a bad place. No matter how busy he is, he always manages to find a way. And he seemed really off Friday before I left.

StoneCold: Yeah I noticed that too, seemed really fidgety and on edge, did he have a fight with his parents or something?

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Idk, I’m just worried, and i can’t really go to check up on him so that’s why I asked you guys

BossMan: Weird, do you want us to check on him or something?

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: I just want to make sure he’s alright, maybe try and get him out of the house?

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: He has a habit of sometimes just shutting himself in his room for ages

FuckImLohst: I’ll invite him to Pinkberry or something, see if I can see what’s bothering him

StoneCold: I’ll join

TotallyJuliet: Jen and I were going to do some baking tomorrow, i can invite him

BossMan: I’ll think of something

Bich: I’ll just annoy the shit out of him until he responds

FuckImLohst: Rich no

Bich: Rich yes

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Just do whatever works, keep me updated? I’m losing service now I gtg

GossipGirl: Don’t worry about it, we’ll make sure gamer boy is taken care of, now go have fun you mother hen

Bich has changed the group chat name to Finding Out What’s Wrong with The Gay Motherfucker

TotallyJuliet: rich no

GossipGirl: Rich no

StoneCold: Rich No

Bich: fine

Bich has changed the group chat name to The Michael Mell Protection Squad

Bich: Happy?

_____________________________________

 

Michael had received a few texts since the break started. He got them all the time from Jeremy, who seemed a bit upset that Michael never responded, but the daily updates still came through despite his friends’ annoyances. Brooke, Rich, and Jenna occasionally sent him a message or two, but they weren’t anything that motivated him to respond or get up and do anything other than lie in bed staring at his ceiling. 

Then he started getting messages from everyone all at once. Brooke and Chloe invited him to Pinkberry, which he declined nicely. Christine and Jenna asked if he wanted to come and do some baking with them, they burned everything they made and wanted him to come down to saliva the food. He made up an excuse saying that his patients needed his help. Jake wanted him to come to the mall, he used the same excuse, and Rich wouldn't stop messaging him.

Michael didn't know why they all of the sudden wants to hang out with him, he was a horrible friend after all. He had made no attempt at contacting any of them over the break, and he didn't even know why they wanted to be his friend. He was a moody asshole who was born in the wrong body. No one should have to spend time with him. And why so sudden? Almost nothing for a week and then boom, all of them mass texting him. 

He sent one word replies to most, before turning off his phone once again, the small action taking all his energy away from him.

Rich surprisingly came to his house on the eighth day. There was just under one week left of break, and had been one week since he stopped medication, stopped wearing his binders. His parents had started forcing him to breakfast again, his father even roughly forcing him into the shower after his hair got too greasy. 

Michael heard someone knock on his window, but couldn't find it inside himself to go and open it up. Jeremy was the only one who ever used that, and Jeremy was still gone, not that his best friend would even show up. Jeremy had better things to do now, better friends to hang out with. 

The person proceed to knock on the front door after that. Heard his mom open it up and ask sweetly who it was. Michael was surprised to hear Rich's voice filter through the door. 

His mom was saying something about Michael not being allowed visitors at the moment. Surprisingly Rich sounded almost disappointed at that news. Like he wanted to see Michael.

Michael debated it for the next minute, hearing Rich protest briefly before his mom slammed the door in his face. Michael quickly got out of bed, walking as quick as he could to the washroom. His hair was a mess and his face looked way too pale, but he looked almost passable. He shrugged on another hoodie over top his smaller one, effectively hiding any lumps on his chest. 

Then he pushed past the headache forming behind his eyes and walked to the large window near the front of the basement. He could see Rich walking slowly across the front yard, his hands shoved into his pockets and a kicked puppy look to his face. Michael shoved the glass open with his weak arms and quickly leaned out. 

“Yo Rich!” Michael yelled, causing Rich to perk up and smile. “Get your short ass over here.”

Rich quickly ran across the yard, slipping in through the window and landing almost gracefully on the floor. 

“Dude, where have you been?” Rich said, patting Michael’s shoulders before going and collapsing on the chair nearest to him. “Everyone’s been trying to get through to you but you’ve been completely AWOL. Your mom said something about you not wanting visitors?”

Rich was talking fast, his words sometimes slurred by his noticeable lisp. 

“Something like that. Just haven’t been up to human interaction lately, was sick.” Michael felt bad having to lie to Rich, but talking about his current predicament was off limits, his illness was the next best option.

“Chloe said you turned down Pinkberry dude.” Rich was suddenly more serious, looking Michael up and down carefully. Michael’s heart rate spiked, his head ache going up in severity. What did Rich see? Did he see the absolute patheticness of his girlish body? Did he see everything that Michael hated about himself? “You never turn down Pinkberry.” 

 

It was true, Michael loved that stupid little preppy shop with its bright little string lights and pastel blue walls. Their yogurt was to die for too.

“Just tired.” Michael mumbled, wrapping up all the negative words he had been feeling into the one and hoping Rich would just let it go. Rich didn’t because he was a good friend, unlike Michael. 

“You sure man? You’re not looking too hot.” Rich was suddenly looking very worried, squinting in Michaels general direction. 

“That’s no way to talk to a beautiful girl like me.” Michael was joking of course, Rich would think he was joking. But the stupid word in the middle of that sentence made Michael’s tongue shrivel up in his mouth. 

“Your always stunning darling, but your super pale, have you been sleeping lately?” Rich didn’t let Michael turn the conversation around, much to his annoyance. 

“Yeah of course.” It was a lie, he hadn’t been sleeping well for days, the vivid nightmares keeping him awake. Rich looked like he wanted to keep pushing, but something in Michael’s face must have stopped him. 

“Whatever you say, want to play some video games? I bet I could beat your ass in Mario Kart.” Rich offered, and Michael knew he should kick Rich out, if his parents found out he had someone down here that they didn’t approve of he would die. But the thought of spending a few hours playing video games with someone was just too tempting not to take. 

“You’re on bitch.” 

__________________________

Bich sent a photo to The Michael Mell Protection Squad  
Bich: This is the only photo I managed to get of him when I was over there

GossipGirl: you managed to get through to him??? He wouldn’t come over to my house for baking. And why is that photo so blurry?

Bich: No one else was able to get him out of there, I had to go to his house to get to him. His mom almost kicked my ass though, she’s scary. We just played Mario Kart and chilled

Bich: Don’t judge my picture skills, had to snap one when he wasn’t looking

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: how was he? Can’t really tell anything from the photo but he looks tired

Bich: something is definitely wrong, he just seemed off. Said he was sick for a while but he looked really worn out

Bich: didn’t make a single gay pun the entire two hours I was there for

StoneCold: It must be more serious than we thought, no puns and refused Pinkberry

FuckImLohst: count me as concerned

TotallyJuliet: What do we do now? Did you manage to find out what was wrong Rich?

Bich: nah, he got really closed off when I grilled him so i just let it go, i’m going back over in two days though, anything i should look for tall ass? You know him the best

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Idk, maybe just check to make sure he’s taking his meds? Maybe bring him some food to eat? He hates eating at home and if he was sick he probably hasn’t been out much

Bich: Meds?

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: long story, just check the washroom, should have one of those little pill reminder things, make sure he’s taken them in the previous days  
Bich: k, i’ll give it a try.

GossipGirl: good luck, the fate of the protection squad now lays in your hands

GossipGirl: No pressure of course

Bich: @.@

________________________________________

Despite being utterly exhausted after Rich’s visit, Michael was feeling the happiest he had in ages. He managed to beat Rich twice, the other boy was insanely good at rainbow road, and he just remembered why he had friends in the first place. God, he lived without Jeremy for a week and was already becoming a hermit. 

The best fact of all was the fact that Rich didn’t notice anything wrong at all, meaning wearing two sweaters managed to help his chest problem. He had also started binding with ace bandages again, falling back into his original ways of binding. It wasn't perfect, but it helped squash the dysphoria he felt without his binders.

With that in mind, he almost managed to get out of bed the next morning on time. 

Almost. 

But then his head started pounding and he was feeling nauseated again and then he was in the washroom, puking up his dinner. 

His mom was suddenly running down the stairs, rushing into the room to fuss over him. 

“Are you okay? Your really hot again hunny.” His mom was pressing a hand to his forehead, and he leaned into the touch. It was rare that his mom would show him any affection, and even if he did feel like shit, he would take any he could get. 

“Yeah I’m fine, just got up too fast.” Michael answered weakly, and something inside of him told him it wasn’t just getting up quickly. 

“I’ll get you some Advil. Stay here.” Then his mom was gone, climbing up the stairs. 

Michael took a deep breath and rested his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet. It helped ease the pounding behind his eyes. His mom came down after a few minutes, forcing him to swallow the Advil and lay down for a few more hours. A wet cloth was placed over his forehead, the coolness leaching into his skin.

He really didn't know what the fuss was all about. He had suffered through a fever a few days ago too, but not even that made him feel as crappy as he did now.

He closed his eyes and when he woke up everything was blurry and his mom hovered over him, taking his temp. 

“You got a low-grade fever. Stay in bed for the day, hopefully it'll pass.” Then she was gone and Michael was floating into sleep again

When Michael woke up again he felt a tiny bit better. The fog that had surrounded his mind the last time had cleared, leaving him with a headache and a dry throat. 

He groaned and checked his clock, almost noon. Shit, that meant he had just over thirty minutes before Rich showed up. 

Groaning, Michael rolled out of bed and stumbled over to his bathroom, running his fingers through his hair in hopes to make it look less like a mop. It didn’t really work, but at least it looked washed, although he wasn’t sure when that happened. 

He rummaged around his cupboard for a moment before pulling out his ace bandages. 

Michael wasn't an idiot, he knew the risks of binding irresponsibly. But binding with the stupid bandages and just dealing with sore ribs and shortness of breath was so much better than dealing with the dysphoria that came by letting his breasts hang loose. Carefully wrapping his breasts up, he slipped a tee shirt and two oversized sweaters on over his skin. He tossed the rest of the bandages somewhere onto the counter, not really caring at this point. 

He downed another Advil to help with the remaining fogginess and brushed his teeth. He sat in the gaming room, trying to take deep breaths as he waited for Rich to show up. 

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. Rich showed up five minutes early, tapping on the glass to announce his presence. 

Michael glanced up the stairs to make sure his parents weren't coming down anytime soon and slid open the glass. 

“Hey headphones. How’s life?” Rich asked, grinning slightly as they walked into Michael's game room. 

“Good.” Michael lied, sending a weak smile back at Rich. “Three more days before we're back to school. Excited?” 

“Nope. I like the break, sleep in every day, hang out with my friends.” Rich jokingly punched Michael lightly on the arm, and Michael ignored the warmth blooming in his chest at being called Rich's friend. 

“I’m looking forward to it. Breaks boring when you got nothing better to do.” Michael turned on the station, popping in some old retro game he bought years ago. Rich just hummed in sympathy. 

The game started up and the two of them played in comfortable silence, only broken by the protests and cheers whenever something happened. 

After an hour or so Rich paused the game to stretch. 

“I got to piss. I'll be back.” Rich said and with that he was gone, slipping into the bathroom before Michael could say anything. 

Michael simply shrugged, turning back to the game. 

He didn't even care when Rich took well over five minutes and came out looking slightly flushed. That was Rich's business, not Michaels.

_________________________________

Bich Sent a message to The Michael Mell Protection Squad

Bich: yo, I'm at Michaels now. There no medication thing here? i looked everywhere

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: it should be there. Light blue container? A month worth of little flaps? He keeps it on the counter

Bich: nothing, just a toothbrush, some ace bandages and a hairbrush. Sure you’re not trippin?

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: he would tell me if he was off them

StoneCold: okay what meds first of all? 

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: not my place to tell

GossipGirl: we can help if we don't know all the details Jeremy

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: yeah i guess

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: he's going to murder me if he finds out

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Michael takes anti-depressants, has for almost like four years now. Please don’t tell anyone else

FuckImLohst: it's not that big of a deal, none of us mind. But Rich you said he didn't have it?

Bich: nothing

Bich has sent a photo to The Michael Mell Protection Squad  
Bich: see? nothing? 

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: thats not good. I'll have to talk to him about it when i get back. Just watch out for him okay? 

Bich: course. I gtg now though, Michael will probably wonder why I’ve been in the washroom for like an hour

 

______________________________________________

Three more days. 

He just had to survive three more days before Jeremy came back. He could explain to Jeremy what happened. Jeremy would help him. He always did. Michael didn’t deserve anything Jeremy gave him, but god damn it he wanted the comfort of his best friend. His depression had decided to come and slap him over the face with a baseball bat and dysphoria was still being a major bitch. 

Hanging out with Rich helped. It helped make Michael feel more alive. More human. But Rich had other things to do than hang out with him. Besides, his friend had only left around four hours ago. 

His mom was out for the night. She was going over to her friend’s house for some drinks and probably would stay over so they could avoid drunk driving. Michael was forced to sit upstairs with his dad for an hour, his father watching the baseball game and Michael reading a book. 

It was a comfortable silence, the two of them avoiding any conversation like the plague. But the thick tension in the room was slowly dissipating, and for the first time in two horrid weeks they were simply father and son. Or father and whatever the hell he thought Michael was. 

“Kiddo? I got to go to the store, do you want to join me?” His dad said, glancing over to Michael. 

Michael simply shook his head. He was still feeling a little under the weather, his head pounding and his limbs feeling weighed down by a piano or two. 

He hasn’t really been out in the past two weeks. Like at all. He spent all his days either lying or bed sick with the flu or depression and the other times up playing video games with Rich or choking down food with his parents. 

No more words were exchanged as his father turned off the tv and walked out the door. 

Michael sat on the couch for around ten minutes before an idea struck. 

A stupid, reckless idea that he was most definitely about to do.

Michael got up and quickly checked to make sure his dad was gone before darting up the stairs as fast as his fatigued legs would take him. 

He stood in front of his parents’ room and took a deep breath to build up the courage. He wasn’t allowed in his parent’s room. Was banned ever since he was seven. 

He remembered the day that fight happened quite clearly. It wasn’t the first time his dad roughed him up, but it was the first time he directly slapped him. Michael was rummaging around in his mom’s drawers, looking for the scissors when his dad walked in. It didn’t end up well for Michael, and he was terrified to go in ever since. 

But here he has, his hand on the doorknob and he turned it quickly without pondering too much over the shit he would be in if he got caught. 

But the need to stop the thoughts running inside his head, the hate and emptiness that was only silenced by his meds and binders overtook the logic. He wouldn’t even take the entire bottle, just a couple of pills so he could get through the next couple of days. And he would just take a single binder, maybe his nude one. 

Carefully checking to make sure he wasn’t about to be disturbed, he searched through his parents’ rooms for his items. They weren’t in the dresser, each drawer just filled with normal closing items. The bathroom didn’t hold his pills, although he did manage to find some sleeping pills he could use to knock himself out enough to avoid the dreams. 

Under the bed just held things he never wanted to see ever again, and the final place it could possibly be was the closet. 

Searching through the hundreds of dresses and shirts until he found the only thing it could possibly be. A small cardboard box duct taped to hell. 

Michael quickly pulled it down and tossed it onto the bed, he picked at the edges, too wired to go find scissors. 

He was halfway through getting the gunk off when the downstairs door slammed. 

Fear froze Michael to the spot. He felt his heart raise into his throat as the punishment he was going to have to face flooded through his mind. 

“Mads? Where are you? I got you ice cream.” His father called out, and Michael could hear the sound of the bags falling to the counter. 

“Maddy?” His dad called down to the basement, his footsteps disappearing down the stairs for a moment. He should run. Somehow get out the window, outside so he could disappear and never face the punishment coming his way. 

That sounded like a good idea. Michael shot to his feet, grabbing the box on his way. Halfway to the window he lost his footing, crashing down to the ground with a loud thump and clatter. 

If Michael wasn’t terrified yet, the pounding footsteps of his father running up the stairs was enough to make him freeze. Terror gripped all parts of him, causing him to stay sitting on the cool tiled floor as his father’s footsteps came closer.

Michael stared at the door, watching as his father’s feet appeared at the bottom. 

Then the door crashed open, light flooding into the semi darkened room, Michael stared up at his father, who stood in the doorway, anger coloring every inch of his face. 

“Get the fuck up.” His father hissed, and Michael flew to comply, tripping over his feet to stand up. He glanced fleetingly at the cardboard box, hoping his father wouldn’t notice it. 

He had no such luck. 

“Is this what you wanted you little faggot?” His dad growled, picking up the box and shaking it in Michael face. “I thought we told you that you weren’t allowed these anymore!”

“I’m sorry dad.” Michael whimpered, averting his eyes in hope he would just get yelled at before being allowed to go downstairs. 

But he had broken a lot of rules. Went into his parents’ room, tried to get his meds and binders, and refused to come when called. 

His father darted forwards and Michael felt a sharp sting on his cheek from his father’s palm. Then the hood of Michael’s sweater was grabbed, and his dad was dragging him across the room and into the washroom. Michaels feet scraped against the rough tiles as his dad dropped him on the ground. He immediately scooted away from his father until his back hit the tub and he was cornered. 

Fuck he was screwed. 

His father was digging around in the drawers, pulling out the scissors and tearing open the cardboard box that held his things. Michael watched in terror as his dad reached inside and pulled out the small bottle of meds that he kept. 

Michael shrunk into himself as his father stalked forwards, flinching as the hood of his sweater was grabbed and he was dragged up until he was pinned against the bathroom wall. His father’s arm was suddenly pushing against his throat, and Michael distantly remembered being stuck in the same position the night the SQUIP tried to take over the world. 

“Is this what you wanted so bad?” His dad growled, shoving the bottle into Michael’s face. Michael didn’t bother moving, either to confirm or deny his father’s statement. “Pathetic, you really are. But I’ll give you what you want.” 

Then suddenly the arm was gone, and Michael sunk down slightly, just barely managing to stay on his feet. His father stood off to the sides, holding out the pills for Michael to take.

Was his father letting him go? Was he giving him back his meds? There had to be a catch, there was always a catch. 

Michael stood there for almost a moment, his gaze flickering from his dad’s face, anger just barely controlled, and the pill bottle in his outstretched hand. 

Slowly he moved forwards, reaching forwards to grab the bottle, swallowing the lump of fear. 

His father darted forwards, snatching the bottle away and grabbing Michaels head once again. Michael tried to fight back, punching and scratching as his dad wrestled him to the ground. Fear took over his arms and legs as he flailed, causing both of them to fall down to the ground. Michael went first, his head slamming onto the ground as he fell. 

Everything went blurry for a moment, and all the fight left Michael as blood started to ooze out of his head. His dad took the advantage of Michael’s now dazed mind set to stand up and retrieved what appeared to be a bottle of whiskey. He screwed open the pill bottle and shook some onto his hands. Michael tried to crawl to his feet and drag himself away, but his limbs felt twice as long and limp and his coordination failed him as he flopped gracefully back to the floor. 

His dad kneeled beside him, straddling his hips and grabbing his jaw. The pressure of his dad’s fingers forced his mouth open, no matter how much Michael struggled. Tears were running down his cheeks and his father forced the pills down his throat one after another. Michael started reflexively choking on the pills and fingers shoved into his mouth. 

After his dad was happy with the number of pills shoved into his throat, He drained the rest of the whiskey into Michael mouth. The boy started thrashing, his mouth and throat dry even after the whiskey. A few pills slipped down his throat, but Michael’s body rebelled, trying to throw them back up and refuse to swallow. 

His dad clamped down on his mouth and nose, forcing both of them shut and effectively blocking off his airway.

Michael struggled again, trying to hold his breath to avoid swallowing all the pills. He wasn’t sure if this was lethal, he didn’t think his medication was strong enough to actually kill him, but he was panicked and afraid and he didn’t want to test that theory out. 

The burning in his lungs got stronger and he struggled less and less before he gave up. Disappointment and disgust filled him as he obediently swallowed down the objects clogging up his throat. His dad immediately let him go, and he sucked in a greedy breath before he started coughing. The taste of powder filled his mouth as he tried his best to get the taste out of his mouth. 

His dad reached down and grabbed his arm, dragging him up and out of the room, Michael was too weak to protest the movement. His cheek and temple ached, and his throat felt like someone stuffed cotton balls into it. His dad reached the basement door and roughly tossed him down the stairs, Michaels body curled up into a ball to avoid most of the damage. 

Michael laid in a lump at the bottom, praying to every god he knew that his dad was done, that he would be left alone. 

“I don’t want to see you for the next couple of days. You’re a fucking disappointment. Son or daughter, you are a mistake.” His father growled before slamming the door and leaving Michael alone in the darkness to sob.

He needed to get out of here. 

 

________________________________

Gwapo sent a private message to Bich

Gwapo: hey i know its late but are you awake by any chance?

Bich: It’s only like 12pm my dude. I’m always awake at this time

Bich: What’s up? Is something wrong?

Gwapo: you could say that, just can you please come pick me up? 

Gwapo: i cant stay at my house tonight and somethings wrong

Gwapo: somethings really wrong Rich and i need help

Gwapo: i fucked up bad

Bich: Hold on buddy, I’m on my way. Can I call you?

Bich: The answer to that is yes. Pick up the phone so I don’t have a heart attack

 

___________________________________________________

Michael was outside now. He couldn’t stay in that house for a moment longer, flinching at every noise and just waiting for his father to come back down to finish the job. 

His head felt foggy and he felt exhausted, everything seemed too rushed and took bright, and before he knew what he was doing he was crawling out the window and into the streets. 

He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to get out of there, away from his dad who shoved antidepressants down his throat, always from the dad who called him a mistake after accepting his identity for the first time. He just needed to get away, from his family, from his home, from his life. 

He needed somewhere to go, normally his first and only option would be Jeremy’s but the little geek was gone for two more days. And Michael needed help now.

His head was pounding and he could barely stand up straight. He wasn’t sure how many pills he swallowed, but he knew he needed some outside help at this point. So he went to the first contact he could find and sent a message. 

He didn’t really remember texting Rich, but the next thing he knew his phone was pressed against his ear and Rich was almost yelling into it, causing Michael to flinch. 

“Michael? Are you okay? Where are you, I’m on my way.” Rich sounded scared. That wasn’t good, why was he scared? Michael was a fuck up, a mistake, Rich shouldn’t care about him. 

“Fucked up Rich. Broke the rules. Fucked up really bad.” His words were slurred, but it was mostly because his mouth felt like someone poured sand into it. 

“Its okay headphones, your going to be fine. Are you at your house? I’m halfway there.” Rich said. His voice was soothing, deep and slow. 

“Outside somewhere.” Michael mumbled, stumbling a little further into the street. He wanted to get away from the house. Wanted to find Rich. Rich was going to help him. “Come Quickly.”

“Okay buddy. Almost there. What’s wrong? Why do you sound drunk?” Rich asked, confusion coloring his voice. 

It was possible he was drunk, a combination of the large gulp of whiskey and the pills might have made him more loopy than normal.

He wanted to tell Rich that. But words were hard. 

“Bad. Bad stuff happened.” Michael said, trying to make a point. 

“Shit. Okay it doesn’t matter, I see you, hanging up now.” Rich said, and then his voice was gone and Michael felt oddly alone. 

“Michael!” A voice cried out to his left and boom, he wasn’t alone anymore. 

“Rich?” Michael called out, his vision blurring too much to see who the figure running towards him was. 

He tried to step closer to his friend, but suddenly his legs were giving out and he was tumbling to the floor once again. He heard Rich swearing above him. 

“Michael? Shit, can you hear me? You need to tell me what’s wrong. Your head bleeding and your cheeks red and your mouth is all bloody and you smell like a liquor store mixed with a pharmacy.” Rich was hovering over him, his features messed up by the stupid blurriness in Michael eyes. 

“Dad. Drugs. Too many. Help please.” Michael said, clutching onto Rich’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

 

“Okay bud, um, I’ll take you back to your house and we can get some help okay?” Rich was pulling him up, his arms wrapped around Michaels waist. 

“No!” Michael cried out pulling away. “Can’t go home. He’ll be mad. He’ll kill me. Just please, need to sleep it off. Too many, took too many.” It was the most sense Michael was going to make for a while, he words just aren’t connecting inside his mind. And stringing them together was just painful. 

“What? You know what, screw it. I’ll get answers or of you tomorrow. I’ll take you to my place. My parents are out for the night. Just hang on okay bud? Don’t fall asleep.” Rich grumbled, started to drag Michaels larger frame back towards the car. 

“Yeah of course. No falling asleep.” Michael mumbled as he slipped gracefully into unconsciousness.

 

______________________________________________

Awareness came in stages. Michael would get flashes every now and then, memories of Rich talking to him rapidly, asking for him to wake up. Memories of puking into a toilet, memories of a cool cloth being placed on his forehead. Cut off words and hushed conversations. 

He woke up fully for the first time and was immediately met with bright lights. Michael squinted and groaned, his head pounding with protest. 

“Michael? Are you awake? Oh shit, the lights.” Rich was speaking from far away, but the lights were suddenly dimmed and the pain lessened. Michael tried to sit up, pushing his weak arms under him in an attempt to get some leverage. But something painful dug into the underside of his arms and his ribs ached in protests. Suddenly it was kind of hard to breath but he pushed the panic down as he looked around for Rich. 

And shit, Rich was standing to the side of him, leaning over the bed with fear and anger all tied up into one expression. 

“What the fuck dude?” Rich exclaimed, lightly pushing Michael’s arms. Michael tried to ignore the way he flinched back from the harsh words or the shove. He wasn’t at home, his father wasn’t there, he was safe. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Michael needed to get out of there. This was breaking about every single rule he had ever created for himself. The rules about locking every single fear and pain into a box inside of himself. The rule that he made that said he wouldn’t tell anyone anything, not ever Jeremy. The rule that said that everyone would hate him if he told them, despise him for being such a fucking ungrateful kid that cried every time his parents were a little mean to him. The rule that said he had to be strong, that never allowed anyone in. The rule that said he wasn’t allowed to cry, because crying was a girly thing and Michael was not a girl. He refused to be a girl. 

He couldn’t allow Rich in, didn’t even know why he called him in the first place. Rich was so much cooler, so much stronger than Michael. He would think Michaels a wimp. A wimp for not being able to take a little beating, for not being able to fight his dad off, for not being a better person. 

“I need to go.” Michael said, panic bubbling up inside of him. This was wrong. He wasn’t allowed comfort. Wasn’t allowed to be here. Michael attempted to get to his feet, his weak limbs shaking as he pulled himself up. 

“You are not going anywhere.” Rich yelped, darting over to grab Michael’s arm so he wouldn’t topple over. Michael flinched from the sudden touch, almost knocking himself off his feet again. He felt like a stupid weak baby deer, unable to stand and walk. 

“Let go of me.” Michael said, the ache in his ribs and head growing steadily to match the anxiety in a twisted sort of duet.

“Dude, you were unconscious with a high fever for over ten hours, puking your guts up and mumbling nonsense. You can’t leave, especially not without a fucking explanation of why you called me at midnight crying and sobbing while claiming you ‘fucked up’. I need something more than that Mikey, I’m worried, we are all worried.” Rich voice was soft, too soft, too forgiving. 

“We? Who did you tell Rich? You can’t tell anyone.” Michael said, his voice growing louder. Who else knew? The entirety of the SQUIP squad? They would al think he was a loser, pathetic. Did he tell Jeremy? Michael didn’t want Jeremy to leave him again, but if Rich told them all it was unavoidable. 

“Calm down Mikey. I didn’t tell them anything, just told Jeremy that you were at my house. He’s coming home tomorrow morning and I think you would be more comfortable with him.” It wasn’t true. The only place Michael would feel comfortable right now was a grave. Preferably one deep enough to numb all the noises in his head and to cut off the panicked breathing coming out of his mouth. 

Rich’s face suddenly looked panicked and Michael’s hand was released, but the freedom didn’t last. Rich carefully grabbed both of Michael’s shoulders and shoved him slightly down and back onto the bed. 

“Breath man, your freaking out and I don’t really like that.” Rich sounded even more panicked than he looked, and Michael briefly wondered who really was having the panic attack. 

But breathing seemed like a good idea, he took a deep breath, trying to get as much air into his lungs as he could. But something was stopping him from taking the breaths he needed, something was restricting his breathing. 

The idea clicked into his mind eventually, and shit he was in so much trouble. 

Michael started clawing at his chest, trying in vain to find the tape that held his much to tight binder together. Rich was trying to grab at his hands, probably thinking Michael was attempting to claw his skin off. 

He finally found it, and after fighting past Rich’s hands he managed to unhook it through his sweater, a trick learned through almost a week of using ace bandages. But he couldn’t allow Rich to see this. He hadn’t really come out to any of his new friends yet, as far as they knew he was born a guy. He didn’t really feel like facing that judgment today. So he took off towards the bathroom, knocking Rich off balance as he unsteadily started into the room and closed the door. Michael thanks all the gods in heaven that Rich’s house had a bathroom next to whatever bedroom he was in. 

He quickly clicked the lock shut and tore off the rest of the bandages, the fabric stinging the cuts under his arms that had formed due to sleeping in it. He took a couple deep breaths in, flinching at the bruising that was evident alone his ribcage. He poked a few of them, making sure nothing was broken. 

Rich was suddenly on the other side of the door, banging loudly as Michael gasped in his much-needed breaths. 

“Michael Mell open this door right now you turd.” Rich was saying, sounding torn between being worried and annoyed. 

“Just give me a minute Rich.” Michael gasped out, taking the last few breaths. He knew he was being stupid, but the fear of being outed to Rich overtook every rational thought. He carefully wrapped his chest up again, a little less tight to help his aching bruises and cuts. He had a little more chest now, but it was nothing Rich would notice hopefully. 

Michael suddenly felt very tired, leaning on the counter and sinking to the floor. It was a nice room, white tiles and counters with a few little plants tucked into the corner. Michael reached up and quickly unlocked the door, allowing a very disgruntled Rich to fall through it. 

Rich watching Michael, who was sitting on the floor breathing as heavily as he could, before sinking to the ground beside him. They sat in silence for a moment, both leaning their heads back against the counter. 

“How the fuck has Jeremy managed to deal with your stubborn ass for so long.” Rich whispered, and suddenly Michael was laughing. 

It was a crude joke, but somehow it managed to life his mood a little bit. Rich smiled over at him, looking a bit confused at the random laughter but more than accepting of it. 

“You know we are going to have to talk about this right?” Rich said, and Michael’s smile faded. He wasn’t ready for this, ready to answer the many questions Rich would have. “But, since you look like hell and I really don’t have the energy to do it, do you want to go eat some shitty foods and watch horrible movies for a while?”

It was a white flag, an out. Michael took it gratefully. 

“I would love that.”

 

____________________________________________

Bich sent a private message to StopMakingPunsWithMyName

Bich: Michael’s at my house. Shit went down last night

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Shit, is he okay? What happened?

Bich: I don't know. He texted me last night saying he couldn’t stay at his house and kept on saying that he fucked up. I called him and he was all disorientated. I took him home, he passed out on me and was mumbling some weird nonsense. Had some trouble breathing but he seems to be okay. He’s currently just passed out on my bed.

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Fuck, I still got another day before I can come back 

Bich: Yeah, can you come down here when you get back? I think he’ll prefer to be with you to deal with whatever the hell is happening. I’m a pretty chill dude but I think he needs his best friend. 

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Of course, you couldn’t be able to keep me away.

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Just look after him okay? Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid in the day it’ll take me to get there. Please just make sure he’s okay

Bich: Got it dude, I’ll keep you updated

 

________________________________________________-

It was easy to forget about everything that happened when he was Rich. Rich who made stupid jokes and comments on whatever horrible 80’s movie they watched, who threw stupid gummies into the air to catch in his mouth and grinned at Michael whenever he actually got one. 

His father and his mistakes were drowned out by the laughter he found coming out of his mouth and the small sarcastic comments he made to counter Rich’s.

The soundtrack to Police Academy faded into the background and the silence stretched out as Michael waited for Rich to put the next CD in. They had been there for hours; the night was already starting to begin. 

“Hey Micha?” Rich said softly, and Michael looked over at his friend, the both of them laying down on the bed. Rich looked so soft in the dull light, his eyes soft and sad.

“It was an overdose wasn’t it?” Rich asked, and Michael quickly opened his mouth to deny it. But that was what it was, wasn’t it? He had overdosed on pills, even if it wasn’t his fault. So which story would be better, to say that he overdosed on pills because of his asshole father, or that he tried to kill himself by swallowing a million pills and then regretted it and called Rich? Both would lead to questions he didn’t want or need. He settled on just nodding. 

“But what about the bruise on your neck? Rich asked, and Michael blinked, almost forgetting bruise on his neck from his father’s arm. “Or the handprints on your arms, the cut on your head and bruise on your cheek. You didn’t do that to yourself. So who did?”

Michael cursed how observant Rich was, Michael had barely even show Rich his arms, just rolled them up ever so slightly. You could barely even see the bruises. 

How had he failed at hiding them? Michael was used to covering up the bruises, using makeup and long sleeves to hide the pain he was always in.

“You can tell me Michal. Please, just let me know how I can help. It isn’t hard to make the connections. The bruises, the fear in your eyes whenever someone raises their voice, the fact that you didn’t want to stay at home, how you said he would kill you it you went back. What are they doing to you? Did they push you to take the pills? I can help Michael, Jeremy can help, hell you could tell fucking Chloe and she would probably go over there and bash their heads in.”

Michael chuckled humorlessly, thinking about Chloe beating his father over the head with her purse while applying her lipstick. It was pretty badass and he had no doubt she would do it just for the experience. 

“I’m sorry.” Michael whispered, unable to do anything else. Tears sprung into his eyes and he quickly blinked them back, because was this what having friends was like? What having someone who cared and loved you felt like?

Rich said nothing, simply reaching over and gathering Michael into his arms. Michael tensed for a moment, unused to having someone other than Jeremy give him hugs. And even Jeremy wasn’t as touchy feely as Rich was being right now. The man was like a freaking octopus, limbs wrapping tightly around Michael.

It was warm, Michael almost felt safe. 

Then he was crying, tears pouring out of his eyes as his mind started screaming. This was wrong, he wasn’t allowed to have this type of comfort, wasn’t allowed to accept the offer for help. But he couldn’t help it. 

“It’s okay man. Your going to be okay. You don’t have to resort to that. Just come over here if it gets bad. In fact, you’re not ever going back over there. I’ll put them in fucking jail or something, I don’t know. But they won’t touch you again, I promise. Just tell me you won’t do that again.” Rich was saying, his voice muffled slightly by the way Rich’s head was nestled into Michael’s shoulder, like they were both seeking out comfort. 

“I didn’t do it.” Michael whispered, finally breaking past barriers he set up to keep him from talking about this. 

“What?” Rich asked, pulling away slightly so he could look down at Michael. Michael looked back at him, his heart aching at the way Rich was also crying along with him. 

“I didn’t take the pills. I didn’t even have my pills. My parents took them away,” Michael paused slightly. “Along with other things.” 

Rich was confused, before the idea of what Michael was trying to get across struck him. 

“Antidepressant withdrawal.” Rich said, as if the world now made sense. “That’s why you were feeling sick and off.

“How did you know I was talking about antidepressants?” Michael asked, slightly confused before it hit him. “Oh god damn you Jeremy.” 

“Not his fault, he was worried about you.” Rich was quick to defend Jeremy, although it wasn’t really needed, Michael found it hard to stay mad at his best friend. “Either way, tell me more. If they were gone how did you end up with a bunch of them in your system?” 

Michael took a deep breath, this was it. He was either going to get accepted or shunned by the boy who was still currently entangled in his limbs like what true friends always did. 

“I needed them Rich. Everything was spiralling and I just couldn’t stand it. My Mom was gone for the night and my dad went out for groceries. So I took a chance. I found the box but I couldn’t get it open before my dad came home. He was so mad Rich.” Michael cut himself off with a sob, burying his face into Rich’s neck. He didn’t want to remember what happened. How mad his dad was, the look of fury on his face as he forced Michaels lips open and shoved the medication down his throat, turning the one thing Michael depended on into something lethal. 

“He grabbed my meds and shoved them down my throat, washing them down with a bottle of whiskey. He said he didn’t want to see me for a while. Everything felt wrong Rich, everything was too bright, and too loud, and too confusing and I needed someone to help me. I’m sorry I called you. God, I’m so sorry.”

Michael was blubbering, every wall in his mind tumbling down as he felt Rich hold him tighter. Rich had managed to break through all his walls in a record time, something not even Jeremy had managed to do, although he had come close. 

There was something about sitting in this room with Rich, his former bully, watching stupid movies that made him feel so safe. So welcomed. Rich wanted Michael there, saved his life when he really didn’t have too. 

They laid there for what felt like forever, entangled in each others arms. Neither wanted to move, both their tears dried out but the bed was warm and the strong pounding of Rich’s heart helped calm the rest of Michaels frayed nerves. 

“Hey dude.” Rich whispered, and Michael looked lazily up at him. “This is super gay.”

Michael’s laughter was loud enough to be heard throughout the house.

 

______________________________________________________-

Bich sent a message to The Michael Mell Protection Squad

Bich: I found out what was bothering him

TotallyJuliet: You did? What was it?

FuckImLohst: Do we need to bring him ice cream?

BossMan: Do we need to beat someone up?

GossipGirl: Do I need to ruin someone’s life?

StoneCold: I’m down for all three

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Same

StoneCold: Jeremy you are a literal twig you couldn’t beat up a fly even if you wanted to

StopMakingPunsWithMyName: Bold of you to assume there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect Michael’s honor

StoneCold: Duly noted 

Bich: Just be there for him, I can’t say exactly what’s wrong because it’s his story to tell but just please be patient with him

StoneCold: Anticlimactic, but whatever the geek needs we’ll try our best to provide

Bich: Thanks guys:)

________________________________________________

 

Jeremy arrived at noon the next day, bursting into Rich’s household to see both Rich and Michael throwing cookie dough at each other.

Michael turned to face him slightly, pondering something for a moment before launching a giant wad of dough in Jeremy’s direction. 

Jeremy squealed and dodged it, before getting hit by Rich who joined in on the attack. 

“Dude!” Jeremy exclaimed, trying to wipe it off his face but only managing to smear it. 

“Welcome back tall ass.” Rich chuckled, reaching over to smack Jeremy on the arm. “We were just about to make cookies when Michael insulted my honor so we had to fight to the death.”

“Not my fault you can't admit pineapple on pizza is a gift sent from heaven.” Michal shot back. 

“You heathen! It is the worst thing in the entire world.” Rich said, launching another glob at Michael, who dodged it easily. 

“Calm down guys, you're not going to have enough dough for the cookies if you keep this up.” Jeremy said, sitting at the counter, staring unabashedly at Michael. 

Michael pretended not to notice the way Jeremy stared at him, an almost wonder filled look on his face. 

Rich let out a fake gasp. “Unacceptable.”

“Just cook the stupid cookies Rich, I need to talk to Michael.” Jeremy said with a laugh, and Michaels heart rate spiked. 

He obediently walked around the counter to where his friend was sitting. He fidgeted with his hands, ready to face the onslaught of disappointment Jeremy was sure to be feeling. 

“Are you okay?” Jeremy asked, his hand resting on Michael’s arm. 

Michael barely nodded. 

“Rich hasn’t told me anything yet. He said it’s up to you to share the story. If you want to talk to me that’s amazing, but if you don’t well that's fine too. Just, I want to know that your okay, that your safe. I worry about you and I don’t want to wake up one day and find out I was too late to help you.” Jeremy said, looking down, fidgeting as well. Michael briefly wondered who picked up that habit from who. 

“Uh, well things with my parents got bad.” Michael started, Jeremy deserved to know. He felt so much lighter when he talked it out with Rich, maybe sharing the weight was better. 

“What? Why? Your parents were always really nice to me when I go over.” Jeremy said, looking slightly confused. Rich slammed a plate down obnoxiously hard, trying to pretend like he wasn’t listening and was obviously pissed at the oblivious statement. 

“Well, they put on a good front. They, aren’t really accepting. But you knew that of course.” Michael was speaking faster now, wanting to get the story out. 

Jeremy made a face, knowing full well of how his parents weren’t that accepting of Michael’s transgender ways. But the ‘few accidental slip ups’ Michael told Jeremy his parents sometimes had didn’t even cover half of it. 

It was weird planning to tell someone the truth after so many years of fabricating lie after lie to protect them from learning the actual truth. 

“Well, they took away my meds, and other things. And I freaked out, Rich claims its called withdrawal which makes sense since i was on it for almost four years and just suddenly stopped, but it just didn’t go to well and then-”

“Wait.” Jeremy cut him off, raising two hands. “What else did they take?”

Michael glanced over at Rich, who was still forming precise little balls with the dough, trying his best to prolong the process and give the two some privacy. 

“My binders.” Michael whispered. He heard Rich suddenly make a little squeak that meant he heard, and Michael’s heart started pounding, but Rich made no further comment. 

Jeremy, ever the gentleman, immediately looked down at Michael’s chest. 

“But it looks the same? Did you manage to get another one?” Jeremy said quietly, probably trying to save Michael from the embarrassment. 

“Um, yeah well about that,” Michael cut himself off, not sure how to tell Jeremy he was binding unsafely, again. And hadn't taken the damn thing off in over a day or two. Jeremy was the reason he first bought a binder in the first place. The fit he threw when he found out Michael was binding with ace bandages was huge, and Michael really didn’t want a repeat of Jeremy scream crying at him. 

“Michael. Please say your not.” Jeremy said, crossing his arm in a way that made him look like a very displease teacher. 

“Well, let's change the topic so I won’t have to. The weather's nice out today isn't it?” Michael tried, but Jeremy was not having any of it. 

“Jesus Christ.” Jeremy smacked his forehead with his palm. “How many times do I have to tell you! That’s dangerous! Your ribs can break, you can die! We have been over this. Rich!” Jeremy suddenly turned, pointing at a very confused Rich who put his hands up in surrender. “How long has he been staying here?”

“Um, he stayed overnight the two days. Was only conscious for one.” Rich replied, eyes flickering between the two friends. 

Jeremy swirled back to face Michael. “Have you been wearing them the entire time?”

Michael nodded slightly, looking anywhere but his friends face. 

“Even when you sleep?” Jeremy sounded pissed now, and Michael's heart rate spiked even higher. This was a bad idea, a really bad idea. Jeremy was mad at him now, which was the complete opposite of what he wanted. 

“Hey no. Stop that you idiot. Breathe.” Jeremy said, suddenly looking slightly panicked. Michael took as deep of a breath he could manage and tried to focus again. Tried to make sure he was able to take whatever abuse was coming his way. “It’s hard to be annoyed with you when you look like a kicked puppy.”

Jeremy shook his head, leaning forwards until his forehead was resting on Michael’s shoulder. It was familiar, a position both of them were used to doing. 

“Promise me that as soon as we get out of here you’ll take those stupid bandages off. They can hurt you and I don’t want you harmed any more than you have already.” Jeremy’s voice was muffled by the sweater Rich let him borrow, one that was way too big for Rich. 

“Okay.” Michael replied, running his hand through Jeremy’s hair. 

“What else happened? Rich said you called him to get you out of there. Why?” Jeremy looked up at him, his head still resting on Michael’s shoulder. 

“I needed my meds. I had some time, so I tried to find it. I couldn’t and dad came home and it didn't go too well.” Michael swallowed, building up the confidence needed. “He forced the rest of my meds down my throat. I freaked out and called Rich.”

Jeremy made a noise, a cross between an angry growl and a pathetic whine. 

“I’ll fight him.” Jeremy said, looking up at Michael looking dead serious. “I will drop a brick on his head or something.”

Michael let out a choked off laugh, where did he get friends like this? Then suddenly he was crying, ugly tears running down his cheek. 

Jeremy paused only for a moment before reaching up and wrapping his arms around his friend. Rich scurried over and joined it too, muttering “bro hug” into Michael’s shoulder. 

They stayed like that for a minute or two before the timer started dinging. 

“Okay, moment ruined by Rich and his poor cookie timing.” Jeremy said, pulling away. Michael’s face was dry now, and the ache inside his chest had lessened. 

Rich wandered over and took the cookies out, and the three boys fell into an easy conversation while eating the warm treat. 

Michael felt satisfied for the first time in a while. He was surrounded by friends, knowing that even if he went back to his parents, he now had two super awesome people in his corner, ready to protect him at any chance. It was a good feeling, being welcomed and accepted. 

Michael took another cookie and laughed at Rich’s stupid imitation of Johnny Cash.

Maybe things would turn out alright, if not right now, sometime in the future. And Michael was fine with that. As long as he had his friends beside him, he would wait forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you all liked it and I would love some feedback in the comments because I was actually debating not posting this so I just kind of want to know what you guys think. Either way, thank you all for reading and feel free to check out my other fics, I have a few other BMC ones:)


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